Apocalypse
by anakinpadmekenobi
Summary: The Clone War was full of many battles, struggles, and gains. It's a shame it was all a ruse. Twelve chapters surrounding the ins and outs of the war.
1. Chapter 1

_A.N. This is a twelve part story all surrounding the Clone War. It will be from the perspective of a different character each week, but the last might be Sidious once again. I'm not sure. It will be written Stover style. An update will come once a week. _

_And yes, I'm still working on the other stories._

_Disclaimer—Guess._

Beneath the Senate arena, lay the holding office for the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. It was bare, anyone could see that. Simple, red walls. A plush carpet, also red, claimed the floor. A single desk with a holoprojector. It held a kneeling Sith, facing the shadow. The loyal Chagrian stood behind, and slightly to the right, rigid. Blue knuckles tightly grasped a pole.

"But the danger is real; be mindful."

"_I will, my Master. Thank you." _The image flickered, and then disappeared. The shadow sat back, a ghost of a smile on his face. He waited, patient. He need not wait long.

A green alien stood in the doorway of the holding office. Tiny and aged. Clad in tan robes. A silver cylinder hung off a brown belt. He leaned on a twisting stick, the same colour of the belt. Physically, he was just an illusion, merely _there. _

In the Force, though…in the Force, he was a beacon of light. The shadow found it despicable, but his face did not show it.

"Pity your new apprentice, I do; so lately an apprentice, so soon without a Master."

"Why, Master Yoda, what a pleasant surprise! Welcome!" He held of black clad arms out, as if asking for a hug, though the shadow wanted nothing like that. "Let me be the first to wish you Happy Empire Day!"

"Find it happy, you will not. Nor will your new apprentice."

"Hm." The shadow stepped closer, his face losing the mask. It showed mild interest, and pure hatred and disgust. Yet still, the voice held no such feelings. His arms dropped back down. "So that would be what I felt. Who, if I may ask, is it? Who did you send to kill Lord Vader?"

"Enough it is to know your _own _destroyer."

"Oh, pish, Master Yoda. It wouldn't be Kenobi, would it? Oh, please say it's Kenobi—Lord Vader gets such a _thrill_ killing those who care for him…" He sounded almost giddy; it almost amazed both shadow and light.

Behind the shadow, the Chagrian, Mas Amedda, Speaker of the Galactic Senate, heard a single whisper in his mind: _Flee._ He quickly obeyed.

Neither light nor dark gave a glance.

"Easily slain, Master Kenobi is not."

The shadow inwardly snorted. "Neither are you, apparently…But no matter; that will easily change." Both opponents stepped closer to each other. A claw rested on his lightsaber.

"The test of that today will be." A beam of light, green like a forest glowed.

"Even a fraction of the dark side is more power than your Jedi arrogance can conceive, what with living in the light." A head was shaken, as if remorseful of such a thing. "You have never seen the depth of the night." Once again, the shadow raised his hands. A malicious smile graced his lips.

"Until now."

Blue light engulfed the room. The source headed in the direction of the alien, who quickly deactivated the green blade.

The battle was on.

Beneath the Senate arena, lightning twisted in the air from the hands of the shadow—Master of Sith, Lord of Darkness, Emperor Palpatine—almost hitting the Jedi straight in the chest. But rather, the Master of the Light caught it with the Force, and redirected it towards approaching red-guards, knocking them into unconsciousness.

Now, there was only two.

The clash became more political—when new lightning strikes the air, it was not Palpatine burning Yoda, it was Lord of all Sith scorching Master of all Jedi into a ball of flesh and clothing. A millennia of hiding Sith exulting in their victory.

His victory.

"Your time is _over_! The_ Sith_ rule the galaxy! Now and _forever_!"

And it was the Grand Master of the Jedi that rocketed from its ball, and using its own self as a weapon to blast the Sith off its feet.

"At an end, your rule is, and not shot enough it was, I must say."

A blade appeared—to some, the colour of all hope and life.

A small weapon quickly followed, hidden in the sleeves of a robe—another hint of the treachery, the slyness that the Sith followed. The red blade countered that of the green.

When the blades met, it was more than Yoda against Sidious. More than a millennia of Sith and Jedi.

Rather, it was the symbol of the conflict of the whole universe itself.

Light verses Dark.

Winner take all.

There came a turning point in the clash of the light against dark.

It did not come from the fight itself, no. Not from the kicks, the flying of lightsabers. Nor from some Force trick the two duelists could think of.

Rather, it came from the shifting of setting. From the holding office, to the Chancellors' podium; it came as the hydraulic lift beneath the podium rose a hundred meters. More than a hundred meters, until it seemed to float on a spindle in the vast emptiness in the Arena. It came as the Force pulled the pods- where the Senators so recently sat-from the domed wall. They became hammers, battering rams, catapults, crashing against each other from missing the intended target. A roar echoed through the dome, extremely similar to the cheers the Senate offered for its newly self-appointed Emperor.

It came as the beacon of light delved himself into the years of Jedi teachings, and as the years of said teachings delved into him.

It came as Yoda reached for the light to find himself in the middle of the dark.

During the exchange of battering rams, blades, and feet, he finally found the perceptions he's been looking for, for thirteen years; since the dark descended.

He finally saw what should have been seen years ago: the truth.

He, the beacon of light, Grand Master of the Jedi Order, the strongest, the wisest, the deadliest warrior the dark has ever known…

just—

didn't—

have it.

He's never had it. He lost as soon as the Sith changed.

Oh, yes, they changed. They became stronger, and through that, wiser. They studied every aspect of the Force, even the narrow-minded view of the Jedi.

They became newer. Better.

While the Jedi—

The Jedi still studied how the defeat the Sith a millennium ago.

The new Sith can't be killed with a stroke of the blade. They can't be destroyed by some torch of the Force, for the brighter the light, the darker the shadow. And in those shadows lie something darker than the night itself.

Yoda knew now that this revelation could hold hope. But should he die, the hope would die with him.

After blocking a slash to the neck with the blood-blade, he jumped in the air twisting his body, deactivating his lightsaber, putting said saber on his belt, and landing a few meters to the left of the shadow.

It only laughed, thinking that Yoda had gone insane.

Yoda waited.

The end came with suddenness rarely seen.

The shadow could feel the energy depleting from the freakish troll, as it sent back the lightning to its source. The troll was slowly falling, and the shadow took advantage of that.

The shadow abruptly stopped his barrage, long enough for him to twist through the air, and land on the of the pods. The troll followed, copying the moves—

Half a second too slow.

The shadow once again unleashed a barrage of lightning at the air-borne Jedi. The Jedi felt it all.

The shock rocketed him backwards, crashing against the podium resting on a spindle. He fell. Forever, it seemed like.

The aluminum floor was hundreds of meters below, littered with remnants of the pods, jagging up like pointed rocks, waiting to stab whoever was unfortunate to feel their wrath. The shadow noticed the troll falling into the depths, but he blinked, and suddenly, it was gone.

The shadow stood, becoming Palpatine. He blinked again, scanning the jagged pods. He might have been old, but nothing was wrong with his eye sight; there was no body.

With the Force, he flicked a finger, and in the podium, a switch tripped, ad sirens blazed through the Senate Arena. Another surge with the Force sent his pod zooming in a downward spiral t the aluminum floor. Clone troopers swarmed in, blaster at the ready, and waiting for further orders.

"Yoda." He jumped at of the pod with surprising agility. "It was Yoda. Another assassination attempt. Find him. Kill him, by any means. Blow up the building, if you have to."

He had no time for a personal search, no matter how hard he wanted to; he knew that Yoda could survive against a couple of troops. Even if they did blow up the desecrated place, Yoda would be out of the system by the time said building would explode.

And besides, what more could that troll do? There was nothing left, his time was over.

He shook his head, and focused on the one thing that mattered (to a point): Lord Vader. He was in danger. Mortal danger.

Clones scattered past him, running every which way. He stopped one. "You. Call the shuttle dock, and tell them I'm on my way. Have my ship warmed and ready."

The troop saluted, and Palpatine, with vigor that surprised even himself, ran.

He would not let a hundred years of planning, and thirteen years of plotting go to waste.

The war brought him his prize; he would not lose it so quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

The _Resolute _hummed in hyperspace, heading towards Utapau. ETA was seven hours. In the quarter's area, all was quiet. A few words echo off the metal walls and floor. The majority of the clones were in the quarters themselves, enjoying sabaac, or retelling past missions. One group settled in the Commanders quarters. It held four clones, one commander. The rest were troopers. They all sat on the floor, a misshapen square.

"You know, if the Republic cares so much about us, they should lighten up this place." The Commander swivels his head to face the speaker. He looked at a reflection. Same features. Same voice. Same everything, save for a personality.

"Lighten up?" A short, amused laugh strikes the air. "And how, Tinny, should that be done? Or, how can it be done?"

Tinny leans forward, elbows resting on crossed legs. His brown eyes glow with merriment. "Simple, Fletch. We add curtains."

The other trooper cocks an eyebrow. "Curtains?"

Tinny laughed along with Fletch. Those two were the more light-hearted ones. They pulled constant pranks during leisure. Some clones were ticked at them, but the majority of them didn't care; it was a way to lighten up.

The last trooper shifted his position, now kneeling with his arms crossed in front of him. He looked annoyed, but his face betrayed him. It was twisting in a grin. "What else, pray tell, could lighten up this cruiser?"

The Commander grinned. The other three faces shared his look. "Well, guys, we could have a pet."

The last snorted. "A pet, Commander?" Even during off duty, he still got respect. Sometimes, it annoyed him—there was no reason too. But he highly suspected that they called him 'commander' from force of habit.

"It's 'Cody' when off duty, Klick." An incline of the head allowed Cody to speak on. "And yes, a pet. It would be amusing, if nothing else."

"Ah, yes. Watching some damned animal run in circles is amusing," Tinny said, with only some playfulness.

Klick snorted. "It must be, if said animal keeps doing it."

Fletch grins an absent smile. "I once saw an animal do that. On some force-forsaken planet. A horse, the natives called it. And they put it in a 'barn'." He shrugs. "I forgot the planets name, or what we were even doing there; I don't remember there being any Seps. Maybe we were just there to help." A twist hits his face, making him look sad. Alone.

Which he was. All clones realized that, someday. They stuck up for one another. Duty always came first, though. If you need to run, to get off and head wherever it maybe, thus leaving behind your brothers—

You do it, lest you risk said mission into failing. Every trooper learned that.

Some had a hard time accepting it, even this late in the war.

Cody sighed. "Let it die, dear. Just…let it die."

Fletch offered a wan smile. "I try, sir."

Tinny smiled. "There is no try. Only do."

Klick snorted. "What are you, a Jedi?"

" I'm a soldier, not a Jedi in training!"

Klick waved his hand. "Whatever you say."

Fletch ignore the small argument, and turns to Cody, squinting his eyes. He cocks his head. "'Dear'? Where did that come from?"

A sheepish shrug and smile is his reply. Laughs follow. "Just came out really." Silence follows, with the clones retreating in their minds.

Cody stretches his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his arms. His brown eyes watched Fletch.

Though he be a joker, Fletch held a quiet nature. And he seemed deeply connected to everyone, as if he was a Jedi. He grew attached to his squad mates and brothers—as he showed, just recently. Cody frowned. Such attachments were dangerous. It could cost your life, your General—

The mission….

He pushed such thoughts away. No need to get negative.

A shout echoed outside the aluminum walls. The door slid open, revealing another face. Said face was twisted in a grin, and the eyes glowed humorously. Klick stood up, the face matching his counterpart. They met with a clap on the back.

Sometimes, Klick reminded him of Fletch.

The two stepped back, and plopped themselves back in the misshapen square, more a circle now, then anything. The newcomer formally saluted Cody. "Commander."

"At ease, Wess." A dip with the head was his reply.

Klick settled back, glancing at Wess. "Why are you so happy?" Clones were rarely just…happy. Content, relaxed, amused. But never happy.

"I haven't been sick in a whole month! This is cause for celebration!"

Tinny snorted, but otherwise said nothing. Cody knew that Tinny—detested—did not like Wess. As to why, he had no answer.

Klick snorted as well, but was more amused than annoyed. Fletch watched with curious eyes. Briefly, it met the Commanders. Both looked away. Turned their gazes to their brothers, who were quietly conversing. Tinny looked like he wanted to leave. He kept glancing at Cody, waiting for some okay. Cody gave a subtle nod. Tinny smiled.

"I'm tired, you guys. I'm going to go back to my quarters." He glanced at Klick and Fletch. "I'll see you at touchdown." He stood, dipping his head, and saluting the Commander as a parting gift. Fletch dipped his head also.

"I'll see you, then." Tinny stood, and left. His socked feet softly pattered on the floor. He slipped quietly out when the door slid open. Cody turned his gaze to Wess, who looked confused. Concerned. Anything, but annoyed. Wess appeared oblivious to Tinny's feelings.

Which, Cody guessed, was good.

But he still thought there shouldn't be any reason where there was cause for someone to be discreet and such; they were brothers, everyone of them. There's no reason to hate another.

But Cody would let Tinny be; he always did. There was no reason to mess with the two, things would get ugly.

Cody shook his head. No need to get negative.

Again. He lauhged silently,and turned to Fletch, who was grinning widely. "I was just thinking," he said as way of explanation.

"Of what?" Klick and Wess stop their conversation.

Fletch toned the smile down a bit. "Well, we had one mission recently, with another general. Tinny and I, that is. Anyways, we were boarding the LAAT's when one native girl started screaming about how cute we were, and that we shouldn't leave. Her father, or someone grabbed her, and pulled her away before she created a bigger comotion. And I heard her mumble—or say, seeing as she didn't really try to hide it—that 'he is such a waste of good looks and toned muscles'. Tinny then shouted out 'oh, we get that a lot. But don't worry, I'll come looking for you.'"

Fletch shook his head. "I don't know why I just thought of that, but that's what I was thinking of."

Klick shook his head, smiling. "Tinny told me that story." He grinned. "I remember one mission, one of the first in the war."

Cody settled back, listening to the two swap stories. Wess matched his sitting position. Crossed legs, arms set slightly behind, supporting the body. Cody listened to them for what seemed like hours. And probably was. A beep in his comlink announced that ETA was now two hours.

Everyone needed to get ready. He stood, stretching his tired muscles. The three troopers looked at him expectantly. Cody switched into Commander mode. "All right, men. Go to your quarters. Get your gear on, clean your blaster. I want everything in tip-top shape in time for the battle." He paused as the three stood. "Move it, you dogs!"

Klick, Wess, and Fletch saluted, solemenly. The marched out.

Cody heisatated. "Oi! You lot!" All of them turned their head, curious. "Pass along the message. Fletch, inform Tinny." A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. "And good luck."

They all smiled. "Good luck, Commander," Fletch said. They continued their march.

Cody turned, and faced his room. Since he be higher in rank, he didn't have to share a room. His blaster lay on the only table. The sleep couch looked brand new. Absently, he wondered when he last slept in it. His armor lay at the end of the sleep couch, marred with scars and scratches and dirt. He gave u trying to clean it years ago.

He picked the helemt up, holding it at arms length. A few personal scratches decorated it. The one he respected the most sat in the front, left side.

The General's. He remembered, asking him. Kenobi promised he would, later.

"_I'll sign when I want to sign. Don't push me!"_

Kenobi had said it so many times. Five months, he said it. Finally, when greeting him at departure, just a few hours ago, he agreed.

"_There. Happy now?"_ Kenobi said it playfully, with a smile on his face.

And Cody was. He was happy. Really, trully happy.

They bantered the whole trip to the bridge. Or, at least tried to. He noticed that the General seemed—

Off. Something had happened. But Cody pretended nothing had. For Kenobis' sake.

He shook his head, mentally punishing himself for being distracted. He put his helmet on the floor.

Commander Cody got ready for war.


End file.
